


The Pursued and the Tired

by ohdaito



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Future Fic, Love Triangles, M/M, Near Future, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdaito/pseuds/ohdaito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel was living the life of a finally settled Carrie Bradshaw - he owned an apartment in New York City, he had a job at a place he loved, and he was so absolutely in love, so head-over-heels for a man who loved in return and told him every day, a man by the name of Adam Crawford. Everything would be perfect if an annoying ghost of his past would stop hanging around in the form of Blaine Anderson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh, the Castles We’d Live In

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I post on ffnet, but I'm slowly transitioning over to this little beauty. Along with that, I'm also transitioning from my main ship of Klaine to Kadam - which is slowly taking over my life. Hope you enjoy yourselves. 
> 
> More chapters to wander onto here soon.

Kurt’s arms were straining against the tight sleeves of his sweatshirt, sweat dripping down from his brow onto his cheek. Huffing, he placed down the heavy box on top of the others and surveyed his work with an immature hatred. He could just _feel_ his hair drooping away from their perfectly executed bounds, and that, accompanied with the sure red flare on his cheeks, infuriated him in the most irrational way.

He was standing amongst taped boxes of all sizes, stacked like a game of Jenga, and haphazard pieces of furniture.  The room had a low ceiling, and the paint was chipping on the walls in the main foyer – if you could even call it a foyer, it was really just their living room with a top hat – and Kurt was sure someone had died in the bedroom, as he liked to whisper, scandalized, with wide eyes.

It’s a small apartment, holding only a single bedroom, a single bathroom, and a living room with a practically miniscule, built-in kitchen in the corner.  There was _hardly_ enough space for all of Kurt’s clothes, but he was promised a hole would be cut into their neighbor’s apartment, if it came to that, to accommodate Kurt’s wardrobe.

Kurt Hummel was nineteen, in his mere sophomore year of New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, and was already renting his second apartment in New York City, having only arrived to this luxurious city a year and some ago. In his detailed dreams of future interviews on late night talk shows, Kurt would be asked if he ever knew he would end up in this position. “No,” he would reply, smiling, “but who’s complaining?”

He sighed and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, grimacing at the sheen of moisture. “Damn,” he muttered to himself, “this body was not made for heavy lifting.”

Suddenly, soft, padded shoes came running into the room, and a box fell uncouthly to the floor, and before Kurt had the sense to realize that he _probably_ should have closed the door after coming in, he was being swept up into a pair arms, his feet off the ground.

Later, Kurt would regret the squeal of surprise that left his mouth. He craned his neck at an almost painful degree to see what was happening in his first haze of confusion, but soon he felt the cold metal of a necklace pendant against his neck. He sighed happily, a grin on his face.

He smacked the arms that were holding him lightly, giggles pouring out of his parted lips. “Adam!” he chastised mockingly, “Let me down!”

“Come on, Kurt,” Adam whined, beginning to twirl them around amidst the boxes, “All work and no play?”

“There _will_ be play if you would just let me down! We just need to finish – “

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, love. I just brought up the very last box,” Adam said, setting Kurt right on his feet. Kurt’s grin lessened in suspicion as he readjusted himself and looked up into Adam’s eyes. 

“Is that so?” he asked, narrowing his eyes playfully. Adam nodded and took a step back, throwing his arms open wide and presenting the room to Kurt. Kurt placed his chin in his hand, and regarded the multitude of boxes around him with amusement. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive,” Adam said, stepping forward once again and pulling Kurt into a hug, feeling him relax in his arms. “Welcome home, Kurt!”

“To you, too, Adam,” Kurt mumbled, nuzzling into the warm embrace.  He sighed. “You know what we should do now?”

“I can think of a few things…” Adam replied softly, his hands stroking slowly up and down Kurt’s back.

“Oh, good, so we’re on the same page.” Kurt pulled away from the hug and looked up at Adam with mischief. Adam grinned and leaned in, lips only beginning to purse when he was met with a rush of air against his face.

“Let’s start unpacking!” Kurt exclaimed from behind a tower of boxes, completely hidden from view. Adam groaned lightly, but a smile made its way onto his lips, nonetheless.

Adam Crawford was twenty-three years old and had only just graduated from NYADA, the same school Kurt was currently attending. He had been a musical theatre major, but had a steady job now, working the sound booth for a stable Broadway show, counting his days until the inevitable moment he would be discovered by one of the countless producers and directors running around the set.

He and Kurt, his boyfriend of a year, had just rented out this small apartment together. Rachel had proven to be a roommate spawned from Satan himself, so Kurt was relieved to be out of that fiasco, and in any case, Rachel was fine without him.

The rent was smaller on this apartment than it was on Kurt’s previous abode, and with two people weighing in, the load would be much easier. Adam’s old apartment had been trash, to say in the least, and though this home needed a bit of tender, love, and care, it was already two steps better; plus, he’d be living here with Kurt, so, Adam thought with a smile, it was more along the lines of ten steps better.

Adam snapped out of his reverie at the sound of boxes dragging across the hardwood floors. He looked over to see Kurt pulling a large box across the room, his chest puffing with a slight vigor. He looked to be building some sort of cave, or an igloo, from the boxes. Adam strode over. “What’re you doing, love?”

“Well,” Kurt said, slacking over one of the boxes, “I decided I didn’t want to unpack today.”

Adam paused, and then he said, teasingly, “That’s a nice story, but I hope there’s more to it.”

Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Yes, but then it occurred to me that our bed hasn’t arrived yet, and it won’t for another two days. I’m still pretty angry over that, you know, this is New York City – the city that never sleeps – but they can’t manage to move our bed – the place where _we_ sleep, ironically – in less than two days?” Adam grinned and kneeled down, crawling over to where Kurt was sprawled across a box.

“Anyways, I unpacked a few pillows and a couple blankets for our bed the next few days. I figured it would be more fun to sleep in a cave, so here we are. I’m building a cave.”

“Or a castle.”

Kurt grinned and nodded. “Castle is better.”

Adam leaned his body over the box and caught Kurt’s lips in a kiss. “You’re my prince,” he murmured through the kiss. Kurt blushed.

* * *

Hours later found the two giggling together underneath a canopy of boxes, no particular joke having been made, yet it was still just as sidesplitting. The blankets were spread out, on top of each other, to provide some sort of matting, and the pillows were strewn about with no regard to the belongings within the paper walls surrounding them.  

Adam’s hair, blonde, wavy, and loose, was falling into his eyes, and Kurt gently swiped it away with a smile. “You need a haircut, mister,” he whispered playfully. Adam shook his head briskly, the hair previously moved now drifting, once again, into his eyes.

“I think _you_ need to get your vision checked, my dear,” he responded, pursing his lips and grinning when Kurt pecked them quickly, “as my hair is at a perfect length. There are so many hairstyles I can pull off with this hair. I can pull it up, and then it looks fantastic with a beanie, or, I suppose, I could leave it be and let you push it aside as you kiss me.”

“So forward, aren’t you?” Kurt asked softly. Adam shrugged and pulled the blanket up over their pajama-clad bodies. He wrapped an arm around Kurt’s waist and snuggled closer to him.

“I think after all this time, I can be forward, can’t I?” Adam responded, biting at Kurt’s nose teasingly. Kurt stifled the squeak that bubbled from his lips in the fabric of his sleeve. Adam laughed and continued to place small nips to Kurt’s nose, his ears, his lips. Kurt was chuckling and trying to squirm away from Adam’s persistent mouth, but to no avail.

“Adam, Adam! I give, I give!” Kurt gasped with a wide grin. Adam ceased, and Kurt placed his hands on his shoulders. The laughter between the two died slowly in a pure decrescendo, and then the only sound that remained was their steady breathing and the lethargic tick of Adam’s watch.

“You know,” Kurt started, “I’m so happy about this – about us living together, I mean. I couldn’t be more overjoyed. Is that too dramatic?”

“I love that about you, Kurt,” Adam whispered, his watch the metronome to the melody in his voice, “and the same stands for me, here. I just _adore_ the idea of waking up in the morning with you in my arms, to letting you bump me out of the way of the mirror, and to making us meals – _just_ for the two of us.”

“I love you so much,” Kurt sighed contentedly, closing his eyes. Adam tilted his head down into the alcove of Kurt’s neck, and placed a lingering kiss onto his collarbone.

“I love you, too,” Adam murmured, letting his own eyes slide close, “my prince.”

Adam was on the very drifts and waves of sleep when a faint voice from next to him roused him. Kurt was mumbling into Adam’s hair. “Hmm? Kurt?” Adam whispered.

“Now that I think about it,” Kurt yawned sleepily, his eyes remaining closed, “you don’t need to cut your hair. I like the idea of pushing it aside when I kiss you.”

Adam chuckled and placed his lips on Kurt’s neck.


	2. His Calendar Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys… you rock my world. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Despite the stress and occupation of moving, Kurt still awoke early and dressed himself for the day. It was a dreary day in the city, grand ol’ New York City, and because of this, Kurt felt his mood drop significantly. But, as Kurt stood in the middle of their near-barren apartment, the only furnishings being the high fashion their boxes provided, and as he glanced back towards his bed and reigning castle, towards his knight, he smiled. The rain had no place, whether it fell or not.

Adam and Kurt were polar opposites in only a few areas, the most significant being the time in which they rose from bed every day. Kurt was, and had always been, an early riser, whereas Adam was nothing short of a slug before noon. The clock around Kurt’s neck sighed, “ _Four more hours until he wakes up_.”

Resisting the urge to sneak over and force him awake, Kurt decided to run down to the corner market and grab something for the two of them to have for breakfast. The refrigerator the movers placed in the middle of the room didn’t arrive stacked with food, sure as it was.

Kurt tiptoed over to Adam, kneeled down, and wiped that overzealous hair from his sleepy eyes. Adam’s once parted lips frowned – in the most pleasant of immature ways – and muttered what seemed to be bargains and soft persuasions under his breath. Kurt rolled his eyes.

“Adam, I’m going to the market to buy us something to eat. I’ll be back eventually, all right? Keep sleeping,” Kurt whispered. Adam smiled and nodded, pursing his lips expectantly.

Kurt chuckled lightly but complied, leaning down to place a gentle kiss upon Adam’s anticipating lips. He smiled and stood up. “I’ll be back soon.”

Adam was already asleep, snoring away as if he was powering the Earth.

This glorious city, flagrantly never sleeping, kept to its promise of playing God to the dreamers and the dreamless alike. With every step he took across the cracked pavement, he was reminded of two things, and how fortunately they had come to him. First was his lucky break into Vogue, and second was his – not so lucky – break into NYADA. The latter had been especially hard.

Yet, he had gotten in. Hell, he thought, it was where he had been taught more than stage presence within different sized theatres. It was where he had met Adam.

Before he had upped and moved to New York City, Kurt lived in the small town of Lima, Ohio. A common consensus among most Yorkers showed their lack of knowledge of Lima’s presence, so much to the point that Kurt was beginning to question its own existence himself. It was there he lived his years like Hell.

Kurt had always been more outgoing, more intelligent, more, it seemed, of the good things in life. Such passion would never, and will never, be accepted in a town of that small of a proportion. That, added with Kurt’s preference towards his own sex, rather than the opposite – as every other teenager exhibited every night in the back parking lot of Denny’s – was not a good combination for Kurt. Lima made sure of that.

Kurt had only ever dated one other person – seriously, that is. There was a small rendezvous with a pretty, but dim, girl, but it had been a ruse to impress his father. In the end, it hadn’t been necessary. Burt Hummel loved his son more than words could express. Their relationship remained strong.

Blaine Anderson. That was his name – Blaine Anderson. The very first boy Kurt dated, and, incidentally, the first person Kurt fell in love with. Over a series of completely heartbreaking events, they had broken up.

Now, as much as Rachel pouted and spoke dreamily of the old days, Blaine’s name held no place on Kurt’s lips.

Adam, upon their first encounter, had been the poster boy for over exuberance and charm. Coming out of a harsh separation, Kurt wasn’t prepared for such livelihood; he was only prepared for slow, sad songs and the delightful color of gray. Adam had, with everything imaginable, changed that.

Their first date was coffee and an open mic; their second date had been a picnic in Central Park, in which they ate bread and the birds ate sushi; their third date was an exploration worthy of Hernán Cortés to all the supermarkets on the Upper East Side, where they, parenthetically, were living now; their fourth date was a night in with Santana and Rachel watching movies.

It had escalated from there, to say in the least. They were absolutely _smitten._

Kurt didn’t think he would ever be happier more than he was with Blaine, but here he was: a living incarnation of that very beautiful, broken assumption. And everything was perfect.

Arriving to the market, Kurt quickly conjured up a list of basic groceries, to last them at least for the next few days. It was but a few minutes past eight o’clock in the morning, a sharp, Sunday morning, and the market wasn’t too busy.  He picked up a few pastries for breakfast, cringing slightly at the sticky crème, and placed them in his basket. He knew Adam was positively enamored with these inflated mounds of sugar. Of course, secretly, he was, too.

Picking up a few miscellaneous things, mostly energy foods for the awaiting day of unpacking, he checked out and strode slowly home. He was musing over ways to rouse Adam from bed, or perhaps getting himself in bed, when his phone gave an alert. Stopping, he pulled out his phone and opened the text message from Santana.

Santana Lopez was a new addition to Rachel’s abode; she had once lived with him and Rachel, together, but as Kurt moved out, Santana stayed. They had grown closer, somehow, those two foils. Santana was a singer, just like Rachel and him, and was trying to break into the business – perhaps _literally_ break into the business. Kurt was sure Santana had a bit of a past crime history on her.

The text message read, “ _You’ll never guess who’s here. I lied about where you are, you’re welcome.”_

Kurt’s eyebrows furrowed together, but thought nothing of it. He was sure his classmate Anthony wanted to drop by and pick up notes he had missed, but it was entirely possible Anthony didn’t know Kurt moved. He’d have to text him later.

Quickly, he texted back, “ _Tell Anthony I’ll call him later. I guess he doesn’t know my new address!”_

Kurt skipped up the steps of his apartment building, feet, for one second, teetering on the edge of the pavement. The new steps would take some time to get used to.

When he returned to his flat, Adam was still sleeping – snoring merrily away, in fact – and the clock had barely chimed nine. Surveying the room, and more specifically surveying the boxes upon boxes of unpacked belongings, Kurt sighed and decided Adam would have to settle with waking up before noon, for at least today. Before Kurt could rouse Adam from his lion nap, a new text message arrived to his phone.

“ _It’s not that peasant. Hey, don’t worry your little head over it. He and Rachel are playing patty-cake as we speak. Talk to you later,”_ the text message read.

Kurt shrugged; he wasn’t concerned over this new visitor in the slightest. This wasn’t the first time Santana had told him he had a guest waiting for him, only for Kurt to arrive home and come face to face with a male stripper – Santana giggling like a madwoman in the background.

Adam seemed to have heard Kurt’s message alert, because, with a rustle, he was struggling to sit up in the makeshift bed, rubbing at his eyes enough to blind. “Mmm, Kurt? Food?”

Kurt chuckled and took out the crème pastries from the bag. The absolutely delectable smell of the fresh bread wafted lazily over to Adam, and in what must have been a record of some sort, Adam was shuffling out of bed and striding quickly over to where Kurt was resting the breakfast upon an unopened box.

Kurt smiled, watching as Adam stuffed his mouth full of his pastry, picking bits of his own off to eat. Adam seemed to be completely unaware of anything but his empty stomach, and the pressing matter of filling it to, obviously, the maximum standard.

“Oh, Kurt, hey,” Adam said suddenly, swallowing his mouthful of food quickly, “I forgot to remind you yesterday; NYADA is having their open house on Tuesday. Seven o’clock in the evening.”

Kurt’s eyes widened. “Damn, I completely forgot about that.”

Adam smiled, brushing hair out of his face absently. “It’s because you have too much on your plate, you know.” He sighed dreamily, “Oh, Kurt, where would you be without me?”

Kurt leaned across the box to brush his nose against Adam’s. “Most likely lost, wandering the streets of New York wondering where I’m supposed to be.”

Adam’s eyes twinkled. “Then just call me your little calendar boy.”

Kurt laughed, and kissed Adam, tasting the crème on his smooth lips. “I think Rachel is going to the open house with that new guy she’s dating – Owen, I think is his name? Do you want to come with me?”

Adam pushed aside the box between them, where their discarded trash remained, and pulled Kurt across the floor towards him with a loud laugh. “You don’t even have to ask. Of _course_ I’ll attend!”

Kurt laughed along with him and wriggled out of Adam’s grasp of his waist. He stumbled to his feet, shaking his head happily, and pulled Adam to his feet with him. Harsh sunlight was beginning to peak through the beaten clouds, and the two turned towards the window. “I wanted us to stay in and unpack, but…”

Adam seemed to read Kurt’s very mind. “But we should go out and appreciate this weather, at least for a bit?”

“Mmm, you suggested it, not me!” Kurt said, grinning. Adam smiled in return, grasping Kurt’s hand and twirling him around. The two danced to invisible music, their hips bumping into the boxes and their feet slipping into something celebrated, quite a piece of work. The laughter bubbling from their chests provided the melody, the quick steps of their feet the beat, and the soft chirping of the birds mingled with the taxi cabs and the overall bustle that was the city was, well, that was just love.

The two were so wrapped within each other they didn’t hear Kurt’s phone alert him to a text message once more.

“ _See you at the open house Kurt! I wouldn’t miss it for the world,”_ Santana had texted.


	3. Run Little Piggy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, party people. Sorry for the lack of updates – I’ve been absolutely swamped with studying for upcoming AP Exams, studying for finals, speeches… sigh. Now that I have a lull in schoolwork, I can give you this. Hope you enjoy! Chapter title from the movie Hanna. Song featured in chapter is Radioactive by Imagine Dragons.

“If we could just wear suits all the time, it would make our lives so much easier,” Kurt sighed. Hands on hips, eyes flickering, fingers tapping, Kurt Hummel was absolutely torn. The annual NYADA Black Tie Required Open House was that very night, and this forced Kurt into a difficult situation. Spread out upon his bed – like puppies wanting attention, Kurt had put it – laid two suits: one black and intrinsically simple, the other a medium gray with black lapels.

“You’re going mad, Kurt,” Adam chuckled from the couch. “If you were sane right now, you’d slap yourself.”

“Oi, shut your gob, you nutter,” Kurt muttered under his breath, and smiling when the sentiment did not go unnoticed by Adam, who, in return, scoffed indignantly. Kurt returned to tutting idly under his breath at the two suits.

Adam had previously dressed himself in humble black wear, much like one of Kurt’s options, but had paired it with his favorite, lavender fingerless gloves – much to the disapproval of Kurt. Adam was lounging on the couch, watching Kurt in slight amusement as he played with a loose thread on one of his gloves, and by a mere coincidence his eyes happened upon his watch. “It’s already half-six!” he exclaimed, surprised. “We need to leave soon if we want to make it on time!”

Kurt glared at him over his shoulder. “Fine, fine – I’ll wear the gray suit, then.”               

As Kurt clutched the suit delicately with his fingers and quickly shucked off his clothes, Adam resisted the strong urge to fall down upon the couch and take a quick snooze. With all the unpacking and the moving technicalities he and Kurt went through the past two days, Adam could barely find it in him to breathe comfortably – let alone sleep. But he knew how important the Open House was to Kurt – it was incredibly important to him as well, being a proud graduate of the school, himself – and he wouldn’t miss it for all the sleep in the world, if it really came down to it.

NYADA hosted an open house once a year to welcome both the new students and the returning – they hosted an array of attractions, the most renowned, and most intimidating, being the Incoming Cabinet. The Incoming Cabinet was like an open-mic at any other school, yet at NYADA, gone were the comforting and supportive claps of the listeners, and gone was the joy of performing. They were replaced with silence and the glares of the school officials.

Kurt had no reason to participate in the Incoming Cabinet, as he had previously been accepted into the school, but nearly all the new students partook. It wasn’t required, but it was well known that if you shied away from the stage, you would be _shed away_ from the school.

He and Adam were quite excited to watch the hatchlings perform, to say in the least.

“Oh, I don’t know about this suit anymore,” Kurt sighed as he scrutinized himself in the mirror. “It’s just missing… something. I can’t put my finger on it.”

Adam looked up. To him, Kurt looked absolutely stunning in the gray suit, but he knew Kurt didn’t accept himself as that, as _stunning_ , and perhaps never would. That never deterred Adam from telling him every day. “You look fantastic, Kurt,” Adam said, standing up and walking towards Kurt.

“You’re just required to say that because we have sex,” Kurt grumbled as he twisted to and fro. Adam shook his head, almost violently – everything about this boy was enthusiastic.

“Even if we were Shakers and dutifully abstinent, you would still look fantastic. Don’t you deny it.”

Kurt flushed lightly and smiled. “Even so, this outfit is still missing something.”

Adam didn’t think so. Kurt looked like a dream in the dark gray pants, equivalent gray jacket and black button-up, and the make-a-mark black lapels. The pants accentuated his legs perfectly, made him look that much taller, and the jacket fluttered to his hips like they were designed by Hugo Boss _just_ for Kurt Hummel.

Adam stepped forward and reached a hand under his own shirt to gently pull the hidden pendant from around his neck. Kurt looked up at him in wonder, curiosity burning through his eyes. Adam played with the chain for a single moment, as if contemplating something, before he raised it above Kurt’s head and let it fall upon Kurt’s heart.

“Crawford…” Kurt led off, confused. His fingers raised to the adornment, barely touching it.

“I want you to wear it, Kurt, if only for tonight,” Adam said softly, smiling.

“Adam, even if it is only for one night –“ Kurt started.

“You’ll look spectacular – actually, you’ll look spectacular squared, spectacular cubed,” Adam sang lightly under his breath, fingers ghosting over the pendant on Kurt’s neck. He smiled softly, as if forgetting Kurt was even there, but his eyes dancing merrily were the indication otherwise; the necklace and Kurt together was an absolute dream.

“I know what this means to you,” Kurt murmured beneath his breath. “You said you’d never let it leave your neck.”

Adam held his smile and shrugged. “It’ll complete your look,” he said simply, and that was that. Adam meant so much more, Kurt knew; Adam was artfully vocal even when his lips weren’t moving.

When Adam was younger, when he was still living in Essex, he had taken a metal-smithing class at his local center. He couldn’t have been over fourteen years old. There, he fashioned a small pendant, a simple oval, and had laced it with a string. The only thing upon that pendant was the letter, in a long, slanting cursive, the letter “W”.

Winston Crawford was Adam’s father, and was a strong man. He and Adam had a rocky relationship, to which Adam, in his adolescent years, had claimed to be akin to the relationship between Great Britain and the colonies. Winston was tall, strong-jawed, with sweeping, dark hair. His eyes, despite the hard look about the rest of him, were a soft, pale blue. He meant well.

Adam had carried that pendant out of class in his hand, grasped so tightly his skin tore and his palms perspired. He walked a clear two miles towards the opposite town, and said nothing as he entered the high arching gates of Hell.

He had kneeled down before a carved stone, carved, it seemed, to reflect his pendant. “W”.

With shaking fingers, Adam wrapped the necklace around the headstone and watched the wind blow the ornament back and forth, back and forth, like a metronome. Winston Crawford had died a year previous; he had been a locksmith.

When Adam, later, received notice he had been accepted into New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, a school across the bay in America, he ran to and retrieved the pendant from his father’s gravestone, and, with panting breaths and flushed, wet cheeks, had pulled the small thing over his head. It settled upon his heart.

Just as it settled upon Kurt’s heart currently.

Adam cleared his throat, albeit a bit watery, and said, “Ready to go? I’ll fetch us a cab.”

As Adam tried to step away, Kurt grabbed his wrist and pulled him back in. He placed his hand upon Adam’s cheek and gave him a light smile, eyes twinkling. Kurt placed a lingering kiss on Adam’s lips, a soft _thank-you_ escaping his breath. Adam returned the same sentiment.

* * *

The ball was in full swing. As per Kurt’s request, he and Adam arrived perfectly, fashionably late; he loved nothing more than to make an entrance. Well, Kurt mused as he stepped into the entrance hall, strung with silver and red, hand in hand with Adam, there was nothing he loved more than to make an entrance _with_ Adam next to him.

The entrance hall held but a few people, even less of those students, the rest being photographers from freelance papers, but nonetheless, Kurt whispered to Adam, “This feels like I’m on the red carpet.”

Adam grinned, waving a hand royally to the few journalists, “Am I your assistant or your famous beau on this red carpet?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you decide.”

The two walked merrily into the event rooms, greeting Rachel and Owen and making their necessary rounds as quickly as they could. Everyone, it seemed, remembered Adam and his upbeat, buoyant attitude, and spoke of the longing to have that personality back. Even more so, returning students expressed their congratulations on their new apartment - an Apples girl even going as far as to say she gave them her blessing. Carmen Tibideaux, as she strolled noncommittally by, struck Adam with a rare, guarded smile.

With that, Adam and Kurt giggled conspiratorially to themselves and followed Tibideaux into the Incoming Cabinet room.

The room, which was usually the auditorium where the Adams Apples performed, was stacked to the brim with – admittedly – returning students aiming for a good show. However, lined up in the front rows, were the, true to the word, incoming students, all fidgeting nervously but dressed to the nines.

Kurt located two free seats in the middle, and pulled Adam by his hand to them, apologizing softly as they went. There was silence in the theatre, not a performance to be heard or seen, but as Kurt and Adam sat down, a meek, small girl stepped onstage with ballet shoes and began her number.

Adam turned to Kurt. “You look dazzling tonight,” he whispered, a hand coming, almost unconsciously, to stroke the oval necklace that dangled lazily down from Kurt’s neck to rest over his button-up. It gleamed under the reflected spotlight.

“You look as magnificent as ever,” Kurt returned with a wink, to which Adam pressed a quick kiss to his neck. The girl onstage finished performing, but Kurt hadn’t the foggiest what she had just done. “Do you maybe want to catch a late dinner after this? I think we deserve it after all this moving and required social gatherings.”

Adam nodded, smiled, and pressed a single finger to his lips. The next performer was heading slowly up the steps. Adam took Kurt’s hand in his, fingers brushing ever-so faintly over his knuckles.

A few, soft notes permeated the audience as the singer set himself up. From their seats, Kurt and Adam couldn’t see very well the performer, but unless it was an actor or a dancer, there wasn’t much need to; if their voice was good, it would reach them fine. The soft tune began to form itself stronger, the melody becoming more distinct until Kurt’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and Adam cocked his head to the side.

“My, that’s quite a risky maneuver there – to sing a pop song instead of the regular stage number. I wonder if Tibideaux will appreciate it,” Adam whispered to Kurt. Kurt nodded, a faint concern building in his stomach for the singer. Both he and Adam knew Tibideaux would _not_ appreciate it.

Then he began to sing. His voice echoed through the walls, beautiful and terrific, and for a single moment Kurt forgot he was singing a pop song. That is, until the voice began to sound eerily familiar. Far, far too familiar to ease the uncomfortable rock that had settled in his stomach.

“ _I'm waking up; I feel it in my bones,  
Enough to make my system blow.”_

The crowd was absolutely eating him up; it didn’t matter that the singer was doing everything wrong – he was singing a pop song at, what has become known as, a strictly Broadway university, the guitar to which he was accompanied was too casual for such a performance, even the light blurs of his fast-moving body Kurt could see darting between the heads of the row in front of him suggested a hint of condescension.  Everything was wrong!

Yet, everyone around him had already fallen in love.

Kurt felt sick; he knew, even before he staggered slowly to his feet with Adam whispering quiet questions and inquiries into his ear, that it was _him._

Blaine Anderson.

_“I'm breaking in, shaping up, checking out on the prison bus,  
This is it, the apocalypse.”_

Kurt latched onto Adam’s hand and pulled him to his feet, eyes wide and cheeks flushed; with Adam safely in tow, he ran as discreetly as he could manage from the room, Adam’s pendant flying loosely behind him. A chant, a chant was repeated around and through his mind as he walked briskly away from the scene: _this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening._

Adam halted them both in the middle of the foyer, eyes wrinkled in concern and worry. “Kurt, are you alright? Kurt?”

Kurt shook his head and grasped Adam’s hand that much more tightly in his own; he needed a lifeline. “I’m fine,” he muttered, and had Adam not known Kurt to be more than a convincing actor, he would’ve believed him, but Adam _knew_ Kurt. And Kurt knew Adam.

“Why don’t we grab a bite now, hmm? I believe you and your assistant here have made the appropriate rounds, yes?” Adam said softly, brushing a disarray strand of hair from Kurt’s eyes. Kurt’s eyes softened and his lips parted, all at once thankful for everything Adam was.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Kurt replied, and let Adam lead him out of the school. “I’ll tell you, I promise.”

_“Radioactive, I’m radioactive.”_


	4. A Jungle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for dropping kudos and such and such – it means a lot! Also, the rating changed to M. Shouldn’t affect much now, though. Maybe later…

Adam knew Kurt far more than he knew the back of his hand. It had taken much decoding, and quite a bit of trust, for Kurt to let down his walls around Adam – in the beginning, Kurt was, all at once, witty, sarcastic, humorous and hopeful. Beyond that, Adam began to discover, was a Kurt – a real Kurt – that had an extensive skin care routine, that took care of others like he once wanted to be taken care of, that preferred take-out over fine dining… Kurt Hummel was incredibly complex.

In return, Kurt knew Adam more than Adam even knew himself. Adam had been, in the beginning, charming, kind, humorous, and hopeful. He was, as everyone knew, a wonderfully pleasant character. But, pleasantries could often be pushed aside to reveal what Adam truly was – he was charming, of course, but there was a miserable part of him that missed his father, a part of him that detested children, a part of him that feared being forgotten.

So, as the fine-dressed two strode quietly through the barren streets of New York City, and as Kurt spoke quietly of what he saw upon that stage – a monster, a monster upon that stage – Adam squeezed Kurt’s hand _that_ much tighter, because he understood. The man that had broken Kurt’s heart was new to town, and seemed hell-bent on destroying the ties Kurt had founded. He couldn’t bear the thought.

Kurt turned to him. “But, Adam, I really, _really_ want you to know that this doesn’t affect us at all. NYADA is a large school – I’ll never see him! And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. I’m in love with you – I love hugging _you_ , kissing _you_ , having sex with _you._ ”

Adam grinned, leaning down. “Mmm, I know.”

Kurt chuckled and lightly swatted at Adam’s bicep.

“I’m just upset because in high school, you know,” he shrugged and sighed, “he was an absolute _star_ that lit up the goddamn school – I had to compete with him for everything, hell, everyone did! He was served everything on a silver platter, while the rest of us hung around for leftovers. He’s like… a stupid, bow-tied hawk.”

Adam stroked Kurt’s back reassuringly, letting him speak.

“I’m just worried that college is going to be the same way – and I’ve worked my ass off to get to the place I’m at now! People at NYADA know who I am, and I’ve never had that before! Now, I just know he’s going to dance into the room and steal everything I’ve earned.”

“Kurt,” Adam said softly, “I know you more than anyone else does – well, besides your father –” Kurt smiled. “And so I know that even if Anderson _did_ try to steal your throne, that you wouldn’t let him. You’re quite ferocious when need be – he wouldn’t stand a _chance_ against you.”

Kurt looked up into Adam’s eyes. “Perhaps you’re right, my dear, English friend.”

“Oh, I know I’m right. You’re a lion, he’s a little vulture.”

“What would that make you?” Kurt asked teasingly, wrapping his arms around Adam’s waist.

“A giraffe, of course.”

“Of course.”

Adam raised his hands to cup either sides of Kurt’s face, and he slowly leaned in, placing a deep kiss upon Kurt’s lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, the kiss became intense. The fingers clutching Kurt’s face tightened, Kurt’s arms around Adam’s neck curled, and desperate groans and whimpers permeated the heated, connected lips – it was penetrating, it was powerful, it was far too passionate for an abandoned street.

Kurt pulled himself away, with much difficulty, to whisper hoarsely in Adam’s ear, “Let’s get back to _our_ apartment.”

Adam’s eyes flashed, and before Kurt could gain an equal footing, Adam was grabbing his hand and rushing them back home, all thoughts of Blaine quickly disappearing from both of their minds.

* * *

The two had a bit of time to spend before Kurt’s school year began up again. Adam’s time at the off-Broadway show had picked up, so more often than he wanted to, he was working; the sound booth, he insisted, was a very crucial part of the musical theatre experience. The sound booth, too, they both knew, was very _roomy._

It was where Adam was – and where Kurt wished he _wasn’t_ – as he fought ruthlessly with their stubborn landlady. Something about a burst pipe – it ought to be the landlady’s job to fix it – and Kurt’s temper was slowly climbing.

The landlady, Mrs. Donovan, was an average, middle-aged woman with two kids that never failed to drive Adam up the wall when they visited their mother at work. Because the pipe burst in Kurt and Adam’s apartment, she believed they had the obligation to fix it – Kurt could very well pull out the contract and settle the matters, but he was too far gone; he had to win the yelling match for himself.

Cheeks flared and breath harsh, he finally pulled a deal with the woman – she would fix the pipe in exchange for the agreement that Adam would cease the relentless threats he made to her children. Kurt was quick to agree, and unable to face the woman, he left the building with a slam.

He skipped down the steps, head moving side to side and earbuds sliding into his ears. He figured he could take a slow walk around Central Park to cool off some steam, and to completely banish the crazy landlady from his mind.

Central Park was as busy as ever – being New York, the park was never seldom of people; there was always a couple, always a family, and always drug deals (as Kurt liked to observe in his free time).  Before his NYADA acceptance, Kurt only had his job at Vogue.com to occupy his interests, so he began to spend quite a bit of his free time at the park. It wasn’t a bad deal, really; he was able to occupy himself without the ever-present shadow of Rachel Berry – she tended to avoid Central Park after her Finn-fallout. So, for quite a bit of time, it was just him, the birds, and the drug dealers.

His social life had begun to pick up, then. He became very close with some students from his Expressionist classes – Anthony, Jenkins, and Harper – and soon his life didn’t revolve exclusively around Rachel and the occasional pip from Adam Crawford.

He was contemplating calling Anthony, whom of which also worked with him at Vogue, when he spotted a familiar, exuberant body hopping among the crowds.

He stepped further and took his earbuds out from his ears, eyes squinting against the broad sunlight. Rachel – that was definitely Rachel.

A small smile worked onto his lips; after skipping out early at the Open House, he hadn’t had the opportunity to give her an explanation as to why, or to even say goodbye, for that matter. He sped up and raised his hand in greeting, vying for her attention.

But, then, he halted in his tracks and his hand came slowly back down to his side; Rachel was not alone. She had turned around and consulted with another, but she hadn’t seen him yet. Eyes narrowing still and the smile slipping from his lips, he tried to see who it was – but the crowds were too thick, the bustle was too loud, and Rachel kept moving.

Rachel turned and a flash of slick, black hair caught Kurt’s eye. His shoulders tensed; he knew who it was.

Abruptly, he twirled on his heel and made his way in the opposite direction. He wasn’t afraid of Blaine, of their inevitable reunion, but he couldn’t be bothered to put on a happy face after his ordeal with his landlady. Kurt, he lived by the philosophy of, “Only one uncomfortable encounter a day,” and Mrs. Donovan had already taken the slot.

So, he strode quickly away, and pulled out his phone to ring Anthony.


End file.
